


Do ut des

by Anonymous



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Claiming, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub, Injury, M/M, Other, Painplay, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Riot wants to make the terms of their arrangement clear.





	Do ut des

In the weeks after the rocket explosion, Riot piloted the remains of Carlton Drake around San Francisco. He snatched the homeless from alleyways and tore down late-night joggers in parks. Their strength came back, slowly. Riot rebuilt shattered bones from marrow, wove muscles and tendons around them, carefully filled his cranium with that mess of pink sludge that passes for the human brain.

He told himself that he was only doing this because he had fooled Drake, completely and perfectly, into adoring him. He would never find that level of trust and obedience in a host again. It was folly to throw that away, especially after he had been brought so low.

He remembered Venom, moon-eyed, talking about ideal hosts, about the _romance_ of perfect compatibility.

With a shiver of disgust, he shoved their voice to the back of his mind.

This was practical. Nothing else.

If he felt a spark of delight as he recreated Drake’s tiny human teeth--white, evenly spaced, strangely charming in their harmlessness--it was only from objective considerations of aesthetics.

A horse could be beautiful, too, he thought.

That wouldn’t stop its rider from driving spurs into its flanks.

*

After the fire Drake’s first, hazy memories were of blood, blood all over his hands, the coppery taste of it in his mouth. He lived in the twilight world of someone under anesthesia, barely aware of what was happening to him, the world around him shadowy and strange.

When at last he woke fully, he wasn’t completely surprised to find one half of a brain in his hands, split down the middle like an orange. The other half was in his stomach. After a moment’s hesitation, he began gnawing at the remaining piece.

He sat cross-legged on a mattress on the floor, naked except for the symbiote covering him like a gauze. The former owner of his meal lay in pieces across the room. Drake stared at the mess dispassionately as he ate. When he was done, he licked the viscera from his fingers, stood, and opened the door to the hallway outside. Other doors, identical to this one, lined the hallway. They were in some sort of low-end, grimy apartment building, he guessed. The symbiote weaved a pair of jeans and an unassuming gray hoodie around him, and they descended the stairs to the street below.

It was well after dark. Drake felt the first stirrings of unease as he realized that he had no idea what time it was, or even what month or year.

**You aren’t going to the police, are you?** said Riot’s voice in his head.

_Of course not._

**Good. If you want to live, you’ll do everything I say.**

On the street corner his legs stopped without his permission, as if to underscore Riot’s point.

_I will._ Drake thought. And, because he thought Riot wanted to hear it, he added: _I don’t have a choice, do I? You’ll all I have now._

A rumble of satisfaction rippled through his mind.

**I’m glad you understand.**

Riot guided his feet across the street. He didn’t tell Drake where they were going, and Drake found that he didn’t mind. Or maybe, after everything that had happened, he just couldn’t care.

*

As Riot had rebuilt Drake’s brain he had sifted through his memories and found bizarre scenes of Drake tied up, at the mercy of large, foul-mouthed men who treated him harshly. He rarely fought back, and if he did it was with a playful, coy expression. This was, Riot realized with a shiver of revulsion and fascination, a _game_ \--and he had to admit that he felt smug in knowing that, in reality, his host was much crueler than any of these men pretended to be.

It was curious, that Drake liked to pretend he was anything other than a callous bastard, someone who tended to control every human in the space around him, and even more curious that he got off on it.

Riot wasn’t wholly unfamiliar with the concept. Some symbiotes, he knew, found absorption by another symbiote an intensely pleasurable experience. He had done this with several subordinates to show them who was in charge, and although they would never admit it, some had enjoyed it. But Drake couldn’t experience absorption and regurgitation the way that a symbiote would.

There was only one human way to make Drake understand just how completely, inescapably he owned him.

*

The previous night Riot had laid him down in an abandoned warehouse, whispering that his host needed rest, and Drake had complied. He woke in semi-darkness. Morning light filtered in through the high, grimy windows, making everything in the warehouse look gray and bleak. Drake stood and stretched. His muscles ached after a night curled up on the concrete floor.

As he rubbed at a sore spot on his chest, he realized that he was alone. His naked skin broke out in goose flesh in the freezing air.

“Where are you?” he hissed.

A shadow shifted in the corner of the room, and out of it stepped Riot, his form embracing someone else. Drake took a step back. He had never seen Riot from the outside before, and it was...intimidating. And exciting. He felt a small thrill at the idea that together they looked like _this_.

Before he could say anything else, Riot had him pinned to the wall, a hand around his throat. Drake writhed in his grasp. His feet dangled a full foot off the floor.

**“In the rest of your life you are what your species would call a ‘control freak,’ and yet, when I do this”** \--the hand around his throat squeezed-- **“your knees go weak. Why is that, I wonder?”**

Blood pooled in his cock. Riot pressed a knee between his legs and ground down. Drake let out a choked _ah--!_

**“It excites you to have your authority challenged, doesn’t it? It makes you feel even more in control, because you know it’s not real.”**

Slime from Riot’s crotch surged upward, forming a long, thick cock, covered with alien bumps and ridges, already dripping with lubricant. Drake made another strangled noise and thrust his hips forward, trying to find any friction against his slick skin.

**“But this is real, Drake. You’re not in control. I am.”**

Riot eased his grip on Drake’s throat. He pressed forward and his dick rubbed across his stomach, leaving a trail of silver slime.

**“But I think that I can control you in a way that you will enjoy. What do you say to that, Drake?”**

Drake nodded quickly. He could hardly hear Riot for the blood pounding in his ears.

**“Good.”**

Riot seized Drake by the hips and slammed him, face down, onto a worktable. He only had a second to steady his hands on the metal edges before he felt Riot’s dick press against his hole. Drake moaned, rocking into the pressure. He was sure that Riot wasn’t going to take his time, that he was going to slam himself into him right away and tear his ass in half. A heady mixture of fear and want surged through him.

He was surprised when, instead, Riot guided himself in slowly, patiently. But that didn’t make it any less excruciating. It was like being fucked by a baseball bat. By the time that Riot had slid it in all the way to the root, Drake was trembling from the strain of holding it all in.

**“How does it feel?”**

“Enormous,” he panted.

Riot eased out and then, with no warning, thrust it back in. Drake pitched forward onto his elbows with a yelp. Riot’s claws dug into Drake’s sides as he helped him back up, hard enough to break the skin. Blood dripped down onto the table.

**“Humans are so delicate, and yet you can take so much. How much can _you_ take, I wonder?”**

The thing inside him thickened, elongated. When Riot slammed it in again Drake felt something in his stomach shift. He gasped in pain. As if to reward him for his trouble, a second tendril sprouted from Riot’s crotch and curled around his cock in a caress that was so much more gentle than everything else.

**“How much will you let me do to you, just because it feels good?”**

On the third thrust, something tore inside him. Pain unfurled in a hot, sweet bloom.

“Oh--my god--” Drake rasped.

Riot began fucking him in earnest now. He raked his claws over Drake’s stomach, his ribs, his shoulders, leaving bloody gashes everywhere. The pain inside blurred into the pain outside until all was one, overlapping and intertwining with the pleasure of Riot’s steady attention to his prostate and cock. Riot was in him, around him, everywhere, overwhelming each of his senses, and he knew that if he didn’t bend with the onslaught, he would break.

He let himself go slack-jawed and pliant. He heard noises come out of his mouth that he had never let anyone hear before.

Never in his life had he felt so undignified. He hated it. He loved it.

Drake came with a broken cry and a huge spurt of come, and collapsed.

There was a grunt of surprise behind him. In the reflective surface of the table he saw Riot staring down at the body he had ravaged, toothy mouth parted, pearly eyes wide. Drake turned his face into the hard surface and allowed himself a small grin of triumph.

**“Sit up,”** Riot said, gruffly.

“You ruptured my intestines. I don’t know if I can.”

**“Fine.”**

Drake glanced back to see Riot’s current host fall to the ground in a shriveled heap. The symbiote soaked into Drake’s skin and he felt his insides squirm as Riot stitched them back together. The scratches faded too, but remained as raised welts--invisible to anyone who only glanced at him, but impossible for him to ignore. Drake sat up and rubbed his fingers over the welts idly. Despite the chill, Riot put him in khaki shorts and a gray polo shirt, so the marks on his arms and legs were visible.

The two of them coolly regarded the withered corpse at their feet.

“Who was he?” Drake asked.

**I don’t know. Some man I found loitering outside this place.**

“We should leave.”

Riot brought his feet to the ground and propelled Drake toward the door.

Just in case Drake thought that they were leaving because it was _his_ idea.

Drake stifled his amusement and let Riot carry him outside.

*

On the walk to another one of Riot’s hideouts, he switched back to the jeans and hoodie, grudgingly admitting that this body moved better when it wasn’t trembling all over.

_Did you like it?_ Drake asked, suddenly.

**What?**

_Fucking me._

He said it breezily, as if he was asking Riot about the sandwich he had eaten for lunch.

Riot scanned his host’s vitals with suspicion. Drake’s heartbeat was as steady and calm as ever.

**It was nothing,** he scoffed. **I only did it to teach you a lesson. To make you understand that I own your body, and there’s nothing you can do about it, but to also let you know that I am not unwilling to indulge in certain...pleasures. As a reward for you loyalty. And no other reason.**

_You’re aware of the cultural context of fucking, then. It’s a romantic thing._

**It didn’t seem like a romantic thing when you paid those men to restrain you. That was merely...transactional. Yes. Transactional. That is what our relationship will be.**

Drake hummed to himself. Riot still had no idea what that noise meant.

**What?**

_Nothing. Don’t worry about it._

Slime congealed around his vocal cords, choking off the noise, and Riot dragged him into an alleyway, where he made him stumble and fall against the wall. His head sprouted from Drake’s shoulder and he bared his teeth in his face.

**“If I sense any notions of _romance”_** \--he spat the word-- **“forming in your head, I will drain your body and dump your desiccated corpse in a gutter.”**

“I’m not a fool, Riot. I understand exactly what you want from me. You’ve made that clear.”

Riot wondered what, precisely, Drake thought he wanted, but before he could ask Drake reached forward and placed the tips of his fingers against his teeth.

It was strange, the feeling of touching and being touched at the same time. He had never done this with a host before.

He was so puzzled by the sensation that he didn’t react immediately when Drake pushed off from the wall and walked back out onto the sidewalk. He soaked back into his hoodie and hovered around his shoulders, flustered, as Drake crossed the street and continued heading down the route Riot had put them on earlier.

**I could have bitten your finger off. I could have refused to heal it.**

_Yes. But you didn’t._

Riot seethed. Fangs sprouted around the collar of the hoodie and pressed against Drake’s throat, in warning.

**Do _not_ do it again.**

Drake waited until he reached the end of the block to answer. The threat didn’t seem to bother him.

_Okay._

**It didn’t like it.**

_Okay._

**And I didn’t like the fucking, either. I know you’re still thinking about it. I can hear your thoughts, Drake! Stop trying to hide you intentions! It won’t work!**

Drake bit his lip.

_Yes, Riot. Sorry, Riot._

**Next time I will fuck you through both ends. I will destroy your entire gastrointestinal system.**

_You’re disgusting._

Riot laughed, dark and low.

Oh yes. He was going to be cruel. Deliciously cruel.

And if, maybe, he wanted to brush his teeth against Drake’s skin again before he tore it apart, then that was his business.


End file.
